Elegy of the Victors
by Darth Mittens42
Summary: Everything changed after the assault of the Dark Gundam. The solar system, instead of unifying, has become more fragmented as the citizens of Earth are trampled on. Big changes are in store for the 14th Fight, especially after a 4-year hiatus and a new governing body in charge of the Fights, with its own set of rules. The past comes alive again in FC 68. Rating may change.
1. Prologue 1

_New Prologue Part 1 is up! Once Part 2 is released this chapter and the current Chapter 2 will be removed and replaced with the new Prologue. _

* * *

My first real foray into publicly released fanfics. I hope to make this a long-runner like it has been in my head, but no promises, especially since the appetite for these fics has pretty much been sated.

What I aim to explore here are the less pleasant (read sociopolitical) implications of the Gundam Fight, and what would happen if an individual could amass enough resources to produce their own Gundam to take part in the Fight. This story uses the "official" English/Bowdlerized translations of most Mobile Weapons and their designations. No soppy excuses this time, let's go.

Mobile Fighter G Gundam and characters are property of Bandai Entertainment and Sunrise.

* * *

Greetings; I would like to, if you will allow me, provide for you a brief explanation considering the origin and purpose of this Gundam Fight. It all began in the recent past, about seventy years ago. After the events of each Gundam Fight, the citizens of the Earth breathe a collective sigh of relief and begin the arduous process of restoring what were once their homes and lives. And they build, and they build, and they continue building, until the next Gundam Fight descends upon their helpless mudball to tear down all the results of the past four years of hard labor. But this time, things are a little bit different. After the events of the Thirteenth Gundam Fight and the destruction of the Dark Gundam, it was decided that the next Fight would be postponed for an extra four years to assess and repair the extensive damage brought on by the Dark Gundam's assault on the Earth.

During this time the Gundam Fight Committee and the United Colonies Federation convened to make alterations to the rules and regulations regarding the Gundam Fight, the most notable of which being the acceptance of independent entries to compete in matches all the way up to the Finals, at which time their national allegiance must be declared. This decision brought a wave of outrage across the Earth, as citizens decried this new breed of freelancer Gundam Fighter as nothing but shameless mercenaries looking to reap the spoils of Earth, caring even less (if possible) about the results of their actions than any previous patriot Fighters. As a result, the nations of Earth threw down their "Neo" titles and formed a planet-wide United Nations Coalition which would negotiate on behalf of all Earth's citizens in the Colonial forum.

The first negotiation to take place between the Federation and the new Coalition was one regarding the Gundam Fight, or rather, the sponsor colony nations. Fighters would continue to be held blameless for any damage to the Earth and her cities, but the colonial governments would be responsible for reparations and reconstruction. Second, the next League Finals would not be held in the previous victor nation of Japan, as tradition dictated. Instead, the decrepit city of San Francisco would be transformed into a sparkling jewel of competition and sportsmanship to host the 14th League Finals, to jump-start colonial reparations.

Now this is all a lot to take in at once, especially for veteran Fighters like Neo-Japan's Domon Kasshu. How will these numerous changes affect this year's Gundam Fight, set to begin in just a few short hours?

Let's get things started! Gundam Fight, all set! Ready… GO!

* * *

In a high-security hangar on the colony of Neo-Japan, Rain Kasshu ran through diagnostic after diagnostic as her husband put the new 3rd-generation Mobile Trace system through its paces. Brainwaves… Blood pressure… Pulse… Respiration… A faint yawn emanated from the weary technician. She had seen these same readings on a near constant basis as repeated tests revealed the same results: Domon was having trouble with the trace suit. _Oh Domon, it's always something, isn't it?_ As if on cue the King of Hearts voiced his concerns.

"I think we're done, Rain" came his voice from God Gundam's loudspeaker. "I can't stand this new Trace System. Three whole days of training and I just can't move the way I should. This thing is coming off!" Rain couldn't help but giggle at the thought of this strong, rough man having trouble with his clothes, and God Gundam's sensor suite did its work. "Are you laughing down there, Rain? You should come on up and try this yourself! It's just a load of fun, trust me!" The sarcasm was practically dripping from his Gundam's head unit.

"How bad could it be? I did fairly well in the old model myself, as a matter of fact." Rain retorted, with an equal portion of sarcasm. Fairly well was an understatement if ever there was one. Not many untrained civilians could withstand the forces generated merely by the suit-up procedure, much less an actual battle. God Gundam's cockpit hatch opened with a shrill hiss, and the Gundam lurched as its pilot stepped outside while the trace was still running. "Careful now! Just let the system recycle and you'll be out of there in no time! Get back inside!"

"No way! You really want to know what this feels like?" Domon began ripping at his second skin, almost in desperation. "Try hugging a cactus in a blizzard, you'll get the idea! These machines sink their cold hooks into places machines were never meant to go!" God Gundam shook violently, and the King of Hearts was visibly thrown off balance. "Fine, fine! You win, stupid thing. Time to play 'human zipper' one more time, then I don't care if I never set foot in here again!" With an audible groan, Domon closed the cockpit hatch once again, and the daily ritual resumed.

_Maybe if you didn't fight it so hard, things would go smoother… _Rain didn't dare to speak her mind, though. At this point they would be lucky to reach an acceptable synchronization rate before the Gundam was to be locked up ready to drop. This new trace system flew in the face of almost seventy years of tradition. No longer merely an elastic silicon polymer, this new system utilized state-of-the-art microbots to form a physical link between the pilot's nerves and fit to his every contour, enhancing synchronization threefold. In theory at least… Rain sighed again, and closed God Gundam's diagnostic terminal down for the day. Any change this drastic would surely be difficult to adapt to, but so close to the start of the Fight tensions were high all around. Rain turned back to the Gundam and was surprised to see her husband already dressed and on the ground.

"I will admit," Domon said, "it does come off quickly when it feels like it." His face glistened with sweat, and he was visibly exhausted. "I don't know why I volunteered for this Fight, anyway. If I had known the Coalition was going to pull all this bull, I would have just retired. We could be on a beach somewhere and someone else could deal with the porcupine suit. We might have even been able to… start a family, you know?" His voice suddenly trailed off, with a tinge of regret.

Rain could hardly believe what she was hearing. Was this man, the King of Hearts, Champion of the 13th Gundam Fight, really suggesting that he wanted to be somewhere other than in the heart of a Gundam? "Well we didn't know, did we? Otherwise I would have suggested the same thing. We haven't had a break since our wedding, really." She flashed back to the wonderful few weeks after the 13th Fight, the childish games with the rest of the Shuffle Alliance, Domon's awkward-yet-heart-melting proposal… She ran through every detail of that night at the hotel, Chibodee's God-awful singing and all.

"Rain? You still there? I said something wrong again, didn't I?" Domon stood in front of her now, staring into her cool cerulean eyes intently. It was almost unbelievable how much he had opened up during their nearly seven years of marriage, though Rain didn't really mind the softening of his formerly harsh demeanor. She gave him one of her trademark smiles, and planted a quick kiss on his unsuspecting lips.

"No, nothing's wrong Domon. You're more right than you know." She brought herself into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. "Just don't overdo it out there, okay? You know what I mean."

Her husband smiled and took her hand, beginning to lead her out of the hangar. "I get it. Just do what I can to get through my fights intact, and come back home." He gave the slender hand in his a gentle squeeze. "Come on, we should get some lunch. We've still got plenty to do before the lockout, and I don't need you dozing off on me while I'm fighting with the gray goo." The two left God Gundam and its crew of scatterbrained backup technicians behind as they headed towards the inner city. The distant skyline became brighter as the colony's artificial sun edged closer toward noon. The cityscape reminded the King of Hearts of Neo-… rather, Hong Kong and all the friends he had made on the way there. _What were their lives like now_, he wondered… _I'll see Sai Saici and Allenby in the Finals for sure, but it's been a while since I last spoke to Chibodee, even longer with George and Argo._ He would have to make arrangements to catch up on things before the lockout, one more thing to take care of in the rapidly dwindling hours before the 14th Fight was to commence.

* * *

Derek Lorenz stood alone on the bridge of the battleship Solstice. It was a magnificent craft, one of the largest private vessels in existence, and equally as expensive. Its captain stood motionless, staring into the blackness. Of average height, less-than-muscular build and dirty-blonde haired, the captain was not exactly picturesque in his stature, but nonetheless he carried himself with presence. His stoic expression cracked into a smile as he surveyed the empty space in front of him, and the massive triangular vessel beneath him, split in half by an open ring the width of the bridge in diameter. "Alas, the next phase won't be completed in time. I could have used the practice space. Well, space isn't quite the issue, rather space with gravity." Nobody could hear him. Not yet, at least. He turned his attention to a small datapad at his waist, currently displaying technical specifications on all registered Gundam Fighters. Currently the screen displayed Neo-Australia's Southern Cross Gundam, a prototype dual-pilot Mobile Fighter modeled after a mother kangaroo, and wielding an angular boomerang longer than the Gundam itself was tall.

The bridge elevator opened with a whimsical swish, and a hulking shadow stood behind Derek. Taller than him by nearly a meter, clicking and whirring servos propelled the figure forward on two oversized, bell-bottomed feet. The light of the sun illuminated a matte-black humanoid chassis with brilliant golden accents along all its organically-shaped armored plates. Its head was similar in form to the beak of a tropical bird, necklessly nestled into the shoulder blades of a broad hydraulic torso. From its slanted almond eye-sockets beamed a solitary pink optical sensor, swiveling into position to observe its master.

"Master Lorenz," the figure spoke in a harsh, synthesized drone, "You requested my assistance twenty-three point five-two minutes ago, and I would appreciate an explanation as to your request. You have been remarkably hard to find today, Master." An odd statement coming from a drone that was supposed to be able to access security footage, but nothing out of the ordinary.

"I hope you aren't expecting an apology, Twenty-three. Your task is complete, return to your business." It was almost cruel the way he tested his drones, if they had the capacity to feel anything. He had called the drone simply to see if it would persist in its assigned task despite being intentionally avoided. The drone had performed admirably, to say the least. Derek noticed the drone was still standing motionless behind him. "Twenty-three, I said return to your business. There is no longer a need for you here." His patience was already wearing thin. Twenty-three had an unusual tendency to "aim to please", which usually meant shadowing its master like a newborn bear cub, attempting to wait on him hand and foot. Why did he choose Twenty-three, of all the drones, to perform this exercise?

"It is I who must apologize, Master Lorenz. My performance was unsatisfactory. Would you like assistance in reviewing the specifications of your competitors?"

_Oh hell, it wants to read to me… At least I can go over the cannon fodder's names one last time before the lockout. _"Sure, Twenty-three, why the hell not." Derek turned to face his hulking drone, and handed it his datapad. With a single swift motion the drone enthusiastically snatched the delicate device and tucked it into a holster on its waist.

"Very well Master, let us begin."

* * *

Even though this is being redone, R&R would be much appreciated so I know what I can do better in the future.


	2. Prologue 2

_This chapter is being re-written to meet my own standards of quality. New chapters will be released once the re-write is complete. It is my hope that newer chapters will not suck as hard as the first two. _

As a side note, one I should have mentioned in the previous chapter, this storyline considers "Partners Outside the Gundam" by Jen23 to be canon, just because it fits so well and I can't imagine it going any other way. Most other popular fanfics are treated as semi-canon as possible, so get out there and read the good stuff too if you haven't already. Timelines are a little skewed, but work with me here.

* * *

Now everyone…

By now you have heard several mentions of a "lockout", and you may be in want of an explanation. Put simply, this is the period of time six hours before the start of the Gundam Fight, during which all fighters and their support crews are to be secured so their Gundams may be inspected by members of the UN Coalition. This is done to make sure that no secret weapons make their way onto the planet without prior knowledge, theoretically limiting collateral damage. However, failing to complete preparations in time will result in immediate disqualification! That's right, now fighters can be eliminated before the tournament even begins!

Let us return now to low Earth-orbit, where the logistical dance of hundreds of Coalition vessels is already underway. However, on a large and bizarrely-shaped vessel that flies no flag, a much different kind of dance is taking place…

* * *

"Da Na Naaaa Naaaaaaaa… I'm goin' off the raaaaails on a crazy traaain…" All speakers on the bridge of the Solstice screamed as loud as they were able, as their owner gyrated in place in ways that would make even the most drunken partygoer recoil in confusion and horror. Of all the myriad of disciplines Derek Lorenz was proficient in, the art of dance was clearly not among them.

"Master Lorenz, your energy expenditure at such an hour is not conducive to-"

"I know that things are goin' wrong for meee… DA-NAN… DA-NAN… DA-NAN. You gotta listen to my woooords! Heeeyeeaaa!..." The drone's concerns were effortlessly ignored, in favor of an air-guitar solo.

"Master Lorenz, I would like to re-iterate; your energy expenditure-" A sudden silence brought the drone's comment to a halt, as the bridge speakers abruptly went dead. Derek faced his drone with a look of indignation.

"Tell me something, Twenty-three; when's the last time you rocked out to some ancient classics?" He shot a look at the drone that might have melted steel at a shorter distance. "Oh, that's right, never! Because you're non-sapient, and you have no capacity to respect brilliant musical gems such as these. Centuries old, yes, but gems nonetheless!"

"I beg your pardon, Master, but I believe that is the caffeine talking." The drone had a point. No less than nine caffeinated beverages had been consumed on the bridge between the competitor specifications review less than two hours ago and this spontaneous Ozzy outbreak, and a lack of proper atmospheric pressure amplified these effects. "Your energy expenditure at this hour and the caffeine in your system are not conducive to acceptable physical stamina. You will need every ounce of strength for the days ahead."

"I know that, but we still have a few hours to kill, and I could cut the tension in the air with the broad side of a spoon… That makes no sense but you see where I'm going!" It was definitely the caffeine talking.

"There are plenty of more productive ventures you could be pursuing, chief among them-"

"Quiz me."

If Twenty-three were capable of facial expressions, confusion and curiosity would be violently jockeying for the same space. "My apologies, but what do you mean? There are other more pressing matters to attend to, and I am unsure of the relevance of your request."

"I mean, if you want to do something productive, quiz me on our competitors. Toss me a… a weapon system, structural specs, heck even a paint job, anything really. I'll see if I can figure out which Gundam you're talking about. I guess it's more productive than Crazy Train." The sudden juxtaposition of business during an otherwise childish outburst was nothing out of the ordinary, but many of the drones still were unused to the rapid conversation transitions their master was prone to. Twenty-three paused for a few moments, performing calculations unfathomable to the human mind just to keep pace with this bizarre man-child. With a sharp click of its head from left to right, the drone seemed to have formulated a plan of action.

"Very well, Master Lorenz, without delay. Tungsten-Aluminum composite Movable Frame."

Derek drew his hand to his brow, thinking only for a few moments before snapping back up. "Ferrari Gundam, Neo Italy. Pilot, Mario Testarossa. Perfect hybrid of mass and agility, with shearing resistance to match." He paused, staring blankly into the ceiling for a moment. "Where do they find these people, anyway? Are there secret government eugenics programs to make sure future Gundam Fighters have the most stereotypical names possible, or is that just me reading too much into a seven-decade-long coincidence? Anyway, moving on." Another abrupt change of pace. Derek's attention span was a marvel in and of itself, capable of focusing on the most arbitrary of concepts when far more critical matters were at hand, but always barely retaining enough control to be extremely competent at nearly anything it was set on. Other than dancing, of course.

"Correct. Your skills are impressive, Master Lorenz. Recall time-"

"Don't patronize me, Twenty-three, that was only the first one. And who knows, I might have just gotten lucky. Keep going." If this pace kept up, the drone would be lucky to finish half of its sentences by the time the lockout was due to begin.

"As you wish. Recurve energy-bolt projector."

"Tumen Gundam, Neo Mongolia. Pilot, Sanjar Dhiwal. And that's not what the technical document says. It's a beam bow. Don't think you can trip me up with technical terms, I practically invented half of those."

"Correct. I am just attempting to make this an exercise in rapid response and cognitive reasoning. The Legion thinks it needs an excuse to play games." The 31-drone collective referred to itself as the Legion, after its first integration into the internet. The very first phrase the drones became attached to came from a digital copy of the Bible and countless other media references, and they stated in unison nearly immediately upon their integration, _My name is Legion, for we are many._ After the initial shock and terror of a robot uprising had subsided, Derek allowed the drones to keep the quite fitting name.

"You don't need to rationalize it, Twenty-three, just keep them coming. Hit me." Without missing a beat, the drone carried on.

"Very well. Steam Ramjet Cannon."

"Another easy one. Kraken Gundam, Neo Denmark. Pilot, Hans Holger. Weird thing, that one. Four years ago I'd put money on that super-heavy amphibious monstrosity getting taken out within the first few days, but with Hans in the cockpit and our new Trace System, I think this octopedal horror might give us a run for our money. Funny how innovation can work both ways…" The third-generation Trace System was developed in no small part by one of the many biotechnology firms Lorenz held a majority share in. With some "help" from their investor in the form of strange strings of cellular code, colonial scientists fabricated micro and nano-materials never before conceived. If only they knew where this innovation came from.

"Another excellent response, Master Lorenz. Gundarium-Titanium composite coil blade"

"Coil blade, huh? Let's see… That's the Urumi, right? Indra Gundam, Neo India. Four arms, each with a massive whip blade whirling around at near supersonic speed. Not something I'd like to hug."

"Indeed, Indra will be difficult to hold off at close range, should it close to within your minimum effective combat distance." This distance was the point at which the transition from a ranged weapon to a close-quarters weapon would take too long to be a viable option.

"And with so many melee-oriented competitors this year, it's going to be a real fun time fighting all my battles flying backwards at full throttle. Keep going."

"Fenrir Buster." The combination of two simple words could sometimes have an awe-inspiring effect.

Derek threw his arms up in exasperation. "Come on, get creative with these now! You're practically telling me the answers by giving me the most distinctive weapon system in their arsenal! Ugh, Tyr Gundam, Neo Norway. I have to say, it's quite an interesting choice to completely sacrifice the use of a hand in favor of a weapon hardpoint. But since they did, I don't suppose it's going to be anything less than a mega-particle cannon." Derek drew a short breath, shaking his head and sighing as he exhaled. "Why couldn't it be just a dinky little scattering beam gun?"

"Why sacrifice the hand, then, Master? As for your questions, I will use less obvious systems and specifications." The drone paused for an instant, repeating its head-click before continuing. "Collapsible Particle Railgun."

Derek opened his mouth to speak, but found no words to say. None of the reviewed competitors had such a system, as far as he could recall. Which was concerning, considering the lethality of such a weapon system and the great tactical advantage of having such a device be Mobile-Suit-portable. He furrowed his brow in deep concentration, straining to recall where he had seen this weapon before. "I think you may have got me here, Twenty-three" he said, placing his palm to his chin in frustration. "Guess maybe the more obvious systems were…" He trailed off, and turned to the bridge window. After a few seconds, the drone interjected.

"Do you concede this one, Master Lorenz?"

"Not hardly. Just give me a second." He would not go down without a fight, especially not to a drone. Derek let the blackness of space fill his vision, searching for some inkling of an idea. His frantic mind began to mellow with the exposure to the void and the stars, and like a bolt from the blue, he had his answer. "Ah, yes. That's one of Tau's, isn't it?" In the feverish rummaging through thousands of specifications and notes stored so haphazardly in the creases of Derek's brain, he had forgotten the most critical competitor of all; his own Tau Gundam. "I certainly didn't expect this exam to contain questions from chapters I wrote myself."

"You had me worried for a moment, Master. I would think that knowledge of your own systems would be a primary goal."

"Well, yeah, but…" The drone had another point. "I guess you're right. But you're speaking in first person too much, you might want the Legion to check that out. Can't have too much individuality or your shared memories start to get a little wonky." He slowly turned to face his drone again, readably lethargic.

"Your biometrics indicate you are growing weary. We should bring this exercise to a close soon."

"Okay, okay, fine. Make this one count, then." The drone stood silently, formulating its final query. Its pink sensor fluttered between its two eye-slits, seemingly in deep thought. After what seemed like an hour, the drone spoke once again.

"Head height, 16.2 meters. Weightempty 7.0 metric tons; max gross 12.6 metric tons."

After a relatively brief thought, Derek's disposition visibly soured. "Hm. Yes, that one, of course." The drone stood silent, perhaps aware of its final question's implications, and perhaps not. Derek faced the window again, and did not speak again for close to a minute. "We're done here, Twenty-three. Return to your business."

"_**I am afraid I must interject, sir."**_ The drone's voice was now pitched lower, and much clearer than previously. _**"There is a matter that requires your full attention, immediately. Are you aware of the time, sir?"**_

"Ah, Phalanx, what is it?" This was the 32nd member of the Legion. It had no real physical form, but could speak through any of its 31 counterparts at will, as well as the ship's on-board P.A. system. This was the prototype learning supercomputer that ran all navigation functions, simulations, and had a part in designing Tau Gundam itself. Derek called this one Phalanx as a joke at first, poking fun at the Roman origins of the Legion by naming its leader after its Greek predecessor. The supercomputer didn't seem to get the joke. "I am perfectly aware of the time, and we still have an hour before the Coalition vessel arrives to bring us to apoapsis."

"_**The time itself does not concern me, sir, but rather what must be accomplished during it."**_

"Speak clearly, Phalanx, I just got done playing games and I'm rather tired of them right now."

"_**I mean not to insult your intelligence by being blunt, sir. Is there perhaps something you have forgotten? Something inherently mission-critical that absolutely cannot be done without?"**_ Even in a deep monotone, the supercomputer's synthesized speech managed to sound condescending. Derek mused to himself for a moment.

"Mission critical… Forgotten? Everything's done; food, ammo, fuel, all stocked, Tau's locked and load…" A cold sweat began to bead on his brow. "Loaded…" Pupils dilated in horror. "_Tau isn't loaded?!_"

"_**Affirmative, sir. We awaited your command, but none came." **_

"Well sweet Jesus, here's your command! Andalé, andalé! Macht schnell! All units to the hangar!" The two occupants of the bridge broke into a dead sprint for the elevator, as the thunderous footsteps of the Legion could be heard from down the shaft, all synchronized and marching for one purpose; to accomplish in one hour what should have been done days ago.

* * *

Better stuff to come.


	3. Interlude 1

"Sloppy work. If we're not careful we might have just blown this entire investment."

A group of thirty-five was arranged around an oblong table, their seats occupied by large virtual screens. Each screen displayed a solitary human figure, their defining features obscured by top-of-the-line identity obfuscation software. Every figure sat behind a desk of their own, marked only by a placard bearing a number embossed on a brass plate. Not the most original identifiers, but the method had worked for countless decades, and nobody was really in any position to complain. The figure marked "6" was the first to speak. His accent was modulated to sound more neutral, but his fellow numbered associates had picked up a slight Yorkshire truncation.

The figure marked "1" was next to speak. "Sloppy? You're damn right it was sloppy! What were you thinking, 8?" Notably agitated, 1 shifted forward in his seat, his face occupying the entirety of his screen. "And screw the investment, the entire project is in jeopardy thanks to this blundering frog! Honestly, a truck? With Coalition livery plastered all over the side? There were witnesses, cameras, hell I found footage online before you even let us know the job was done! And look at this!" 1 slapped a newspaper onto his camera lens. Many unsettled murmurs could be heard from various other screens.

"The situation is under control" replied 8. "The target was eliminated, there are witnesses who can confirm the accidental nature of the incident, and Coalition public opinion is flagging. All without any unnecessary casualties. I think that is the hallmark of a job well done, wouldn't you say?"

"I am inclined to agree with 1 on this, 8," 5 interjected, "the target was not, as you say, 'eliminated', your agent attracted the attention of the entirety of the Arc de Triomphe, and worst of all, _the target has recourse_! I don't need to tell you-"

"How deep you're in if your little stunt backfires!" The newspaper withdrew to its new home on 1's armrest. "You say the target won't be any more trouble. How can you be so sure of that? And you say arrogance is an American trait. Why provoke the colonies like this, and so early? _I_ thought we were saving that for-"

"1, please, I think we have a unique opportunity here." 7 had become increasingly more vocal as the 14th Fight drew closer. Now he seemed to have something to say in almost every meeting, usually an appeasement of some sort. "With the right measures, we can work this to an even greater advantage. Instead of simply eliminating one of the pieces, why not replace it with something more… erm… familiar?"

"And what piece, pray tell, would that be?" 1's frustration seemed to give way to a cautious curiosity.

"Well, ah, we could replace Lor... Ah, the target, with one of those wild cards we've been discussing. Keep it occupied for the duration, which would leave only two free agents running around to muck things up!" An awkward silence fell over the group, and 7 shifted in his seat. 7's lack of finesse had that effect on his more experienced associates.

"That's… actually quite clever, 7" 6 finally cut the tension. "And with one out of the way, our resources can be devoted to keeping tabs on the two remaining. There is even the possibility of the third being eliminated in the course of the competition. It's like you planned this from the start, you cheeky bastard." The group murmured in amused approval.

"Alright, enough, 6. I can see this isn't as hopeless as I had made it out to be. You're in the clear, 8. For now. But remember, we can replace you just as easily, and with less of a public spectacle. Is that clear?" 8 simply sat back with a smug grin. "Okay then, vote on playing the wild card is open." The screens lit blue for a second, and almost immediately all had faded to green. "Well, that settles it. Congratulations, 7, you pulled 8's ass out of the fire. We'll all be watching closely now. The good news is the rest of the operation is proceeding as discussed. We will convene again at the halfway mark, or if one of you has something critical to report. Adjourned."

1's screen was the first to go dark, followed by 6 and 8. The others quickly followed suit, leaving only 7 sitting behind his desk in a small office. The man sat short in his seat, visibly rotund and balding. He plucked the placard from the desk's surface, stuffed it in a diplomatic briefcase, and hurried out the door.

* * *

I'm not quite dead yet. I promise.


	4. Prologue 1B

This is the second draft, and it's better than the first one hands down. Let's keep it up. This will be the new first chapter once I get things all settled and up to date.

* * *

Something I want to make clear from the start: This is shameless wish fulfillment disguised as a coherent plot. Allenby/OC, so if you really want her with Chibodee (or yourself) this might not be for you, but it could turn out okay. I made every attempt in my extensive planning to make sure nothing was too much of a stretch, but to get to that clarification, I need to write my way to the appropriate time to explain. It's going to sound like canon defilement for these first few chapters. Everything will be explained in time. My self-insert/author avatar is almost a Gary Stu in terms of his abilities and resources, but I can assure you, his flaws are mine taken up to eleven. They're going to catch up with him, trust me on that one for now.

As a lover of all this wonderful fanfiction, I would recommend that you read some of the better stuff first. Take a look at my favorites for a few specific examples, but generally the more favorites it has, I'd recommend. Also, because I love them, I try to treat as many fanfics as possible as fanon, so be on the lookout for nods to the good stuff. And some of the okay stuff too. Assume a fanfic is fanon unless I write something that directly contradicts it.

It's hard to really get the same emotions in a written format as opposed to a visual and auditory medium, so I'm going to be sticking in some album and track numbers in places where I hear them as I'm writing. Hopefully they'll be unobtrusive and easily skipped if you don't care for them. If you own the soundtracks, that's awesome and I'm jealous, but if you don't there's a youtube playlist with all the tracks on it, at least that I'm aware of. The format will be: [Album # 1-4; Track #] i.e. [3; 15]. A simple search will do the trick. Best to turn autoplay off if you choose to use the musical cues.

One last thing before we get started; this story has been building for over a decade. I've played through it a few times from beginning to end during boring hours at work and in school, and I'm finally satisfied with it to write it down. So sit back, relax, and-

Let's get things started! Gundam Fight, all set! Ready… GO!

* * *

Elegy of the Victors-

The Cost Unpaid

_-Crazy, but that's how it goes._

_Millions of people living as foes._

* * *

[1; 54] A great host of angels stood before the grimy Earth; angels of white, of red, of blue, of green. Angels dark as night and bright as day, all stood vigilant before their charge, their ward, their planet. Just half an orbit before, the great Devil had been cast down and destroyed, sparing the Earth from chaos and a slow, painful assimilation, yet now here these angels stood again. They were troubled, confused. They had defeated the great Devil with their combined strength and love, all for mankind below them. Yet mankind was angry. The angels once strode across the Earth leaving chaos in their wake, all for the glory of those above them. The Devil had been an angel, once, before its fall from Heaven. The angels were to blame. Yes, the new guardians of Earth and all her people caused this. By fighting for approval from on high they had caused this. And now Heaven would pay for the chaos wrought by its children.

Mankind raised swords skyward; swords of atomic fire, swords once used as chariots by the angels to strike down the great Devil from its high place. And Mother Earth had many swords to raise. The angels stood firm, waiting for the blows to begin, to shield their home from the wrath of man below. For many days they stood, valiantly at first. But soon the weaker angels grew tired, and left the strong to carry the burden. Now only a handful remained to turn the blades of Earth. They would not be enough.

March 23, 06:32, FC. 62; Low Earth Orbit [3; 26]

Beads of chilled sweat floated aimlessly in the cockpit of the Burning Gundam. Every so often one would float through the virtual screens in front of its Fighter, rippling and distorting the image of the blue planet in front of him. It had been eleven days since Domon Kasshu last sat down. Eleven days since the United Nations Coalition declared the Earth sovereign, and threatened to back up their claim with force of arms. The military mobile suits of countless nations, warships of both sea and sky, and thousands upon thousands of anti-orbital nuclear missiles, all mobilized spaceward at a moment's notice. His vision blurred, as sleep deprivation and zero-G fatigue slid their clammy hands across his muscles. Domon knew just how far those missiles could take their payload. They carried his friends and companions up into space, blasting through the atmosphere despite all of physics screaming and clawing at their unbalanced flight, desperately hoping to bring them down. Physics lost. Those missiles could reach the outer atmosphere and continue all the way to his home, and the homes of his friends.

_To Rain._

One thought was enough. More beads scattered throughout the cockpit as Domon shook himself into attention, and the Burning Gundam lurched in response. The beads were hot now.

Domon surveyed the thinning web of mobile suits and Gundams collected in Earth orbit. Most of the colonial military remained, but their Busshi's and their national equivalents weren't fast enough to stop what might be coming. On this side, he could spot two Fantomas and a sprinkling of other mobile armors, each larger and slower than the last. _This isn't enough. _He looked to the planet below. _Every green place down there wants to hurt us. _Europe and Africa were slowly receding into night, and the Atlantic glistened in the sunlight. _And how many ships are in that ocean? This isn't enough!_ What had once been solemn determination, and later smoldering frustration, was now wholly replaced by exhaustion and fears of failure slowly creeping out from the darkest places in Domon's mind.

Many members of the World Gundam Federation had been called back. They were too valuable to their home nations to be intercepting missiles on their behalf. The first to go was Neo Singapore's Ashura Gundam, followed shortly by Neo Kenya's Zebra, though at great reticence from Conta N'Doul. Those left apart from the Shuffle Alliance were the scores of Hurricane and Mermaid Gundams from Neo Holland and Neo Denmark, Kyral Mekirel in his Mandala and Allenby in Nobel. For a short time, a few Gundams designated for the next Fight had taken up positions, most notably Hans Holger and the massive Gundam Kraken, but their help lasted only a few days. _We can't stop an attack with this few of us. Something has to happen now, or we lose everything. _He opened up communications to Gundam Maxter a quarter of an orbit behind him.

"Chibodee, hey Chibodee, can you hear me?" Burning's screens crackled to life, and the pink highlights of Chibodee Crockett dominated Domon's field of vision. Chibodee was slumped forward in his cockpit, floating into the cockpit camera and half asleep.

"Agh, that you, Neo Japan?" He raised his hand to his forehead, and lazily pushed himself back into the center of the spherical Trace System. Chibodee was just as tired as Domon, if not more so. "I can't believe this crap. They expect us to wait up here forever?"

"How you feeling, Chibodee?" Domon said, "How many missiles 'you think you can cowboy through before they slip past?" He tried to put on a smile, but all he could muster was a grimace.

Chibodee bent backwards in a stretch, flipping Maxter end over end from the momentum shift. "Ah, about fifty, maybe, if I'm a good shot" he cracked a thin smile, "and you know I am." Domon noticed Chibodee still had a sprig of straw between his teeth.

"It's not enough, Chibodee. You know it's not." Domon's fists clenched in frustration. His fists had been ready for a week and a half, tensing and relaxing countless times as clouds, interference, and streaks of hypersonic aircraft were mistaken for launches. "I could give everything I have, every last ounce of strength, and these _people _could just-" Nano-polymer squeaked in protest as fingers dug into palm.

"Hey, easy there, Neo Japan. I've never seen you like this. Well, maybe once or twice, but…" Always the comedian. He shifted forward and stopped Maxter's absurd backflipping. "Come on, King 'a Hearts, we've been through way worse. Heck, the five of us fought a _living colony_ and won. And the Guiana Highlands, where we were outnumbered hundreds, thousands to one? Come on, Domon, we can take 'em." He raised his fist, Queen of Spades glowing warmly through his trace suit. "As sick of this as I am, I can say with full confidence that the Shuffle Alliance can stand and fight for as long as it takes."

Six months ago that just might have been enough. The Shuffle Alliance was the strongest force in the solar system, through martial prowess and unbreakable bonds of friendship. Was. The power of love seemed to pale in comparison to the might of the atom. And there were trillions of deuterium atoms below them, waiting for orders.

Domon raised his own fist, also glowing with the warmth of the King of Hearts. Somewhere on the other side of the planet, the Ace of Clubs, Jack in Diamond and Black Joker radiated upon their bearers' hands. But it would not be enough. He had to do something now, to force one side or the other to see reason. He had to, or everything they had fought for in the last year would be blown away.

Chibodee waited patiently for a response, somewhat out of the ordinary for the normally take-action fighting dreamer. He saw Domon look up from his fist, and expected the King of Hearts to rise to the occasion, just as he always did. Instead, Chibodee barely managed to squeeze in a "Hey, wait a min-" before Domon slid his hand across the screen and closed the communication link.

Somewhere on Earth, a member of the United Nations Coalition received an urgent message from an unknown party, asking for a private communication.

* * *

[1; 52] Now everyone…

I'm sure many of you, dear readers, are in shock. After the defeat of the Dark Gundam, it seemed like there would be peace in the solar system for a long time to come. However, to the people of Earth, the grimy planet on which we live, it was too much to bear. Plot after plot unraveling in the spotlight, destroying any faith the people of Earth might still have in their colonial rulers. Corruption and backstabbing within the governing body that was supposed to keep them safe. And secret Gundam built by one of the colonies, designed to be sent down to Earth to heal the damage caused by the Gundam Fight, becoming the greatest threat to their planet since the Fight itself?

You might see why people would want to make a change.

The power of the Shuffle Alliance and the World Gundam Federation was just more evidence that the people of Earth needed their own voice in the chaos. If a small band of mobile suits from the colonies could defeat the monstrous Dark Gundam, what could they do to the dilapidated military and police forces on Earth, should they ever be given those orders? Now you know that such a thing would never happen, not with Domon Kasshu leading the Shuffle Alliance, but you must understand…

These people who have been fighting their whole lives just to survive wanted something more. They wanted the dreams and aspirations of the Gundam Fighters they were conditioned to love and adore; to stand up and fight with the strength of their own two fists! And the United Nations Coalition promised them that those dreams would be within their reach if they also banded together, just as the colonies did, to support one another and give each other strength. Strength that the colonies would see as defiance. So they embraced it, and put forth a declaration; that the nations of Earth would be free and independent of colonial rule, as long as the people of Earth could stand and fight.

[1; 03]

But that was almost five years ago. Whatever it was that Domon Kasshu said, and whomever he said it to, was enough to bring the two conflicting parties together in cautiously optimistic negotiations. After many long nights of tense diplomacy, the United Colonies Federation agreed to allow the Earth the right to represent itself in the next Gundam Fight, as well as oversee all matters pertaining to the Fight and the rules by which it was to be overseen.

The first negotiation to take place between the Federation and the new Coalition was one regarding the Gundam Fight, or rather, the sponsor colony nations. Fighters would continue to be held blameless for any damage to the Earth and her cities, but the colonial governments would be responsible for reparations and reconstruction.

Second, the next League Finals would not be held in the previous victor nation of Japan, as tradition dictated. Instead, the decrepit city of San Francisco would be transformed into a sparkling jewel of competition and sportsmanship to host the 14th League Finals, to jump-start colonial reparations.

Third, and what may turn out to be the most important concession of all, being the acceptance of independent entries to compete in matches all the way up to the Finals, at which time their national allegiance must be declared. This decision brought a wave of outrage across the Earth, as citizens decried this new breed of freelancer Gundam Fighter as nothing but shameless mercenaries looking to reap the spoils of Earth; caring even less, if possible, about the results of their actions than any previous patriot Fighters. It should not come as a surprise to you that this concession was insisted upon by the United Colonies Federation, rather than the Coalition.

We now begin this new and exciting chapter of the Gundam Fight's storied history in space, just hours before Coalition shuttles are to begin transporting this year's Gundam Fighters and their crews down to Earth. But just as years before, the Gundam Fight feels different, and not just because of the drastic changes brought on recently. That's right, something else is out there, watching, waiting. For what, you may ask? Well, you'll just have to wait and see.

* * *

I set up this great front end stating that all fanfics could be considered fanon, and then I drop the bombshells. Or launch them upwards, whatever. It's different, huh? And you ain't seen nothin' yet.

I would love to hear what I'm doing wrong so I can get it right for the next chapters. The original versions are still up, but those will be removed once part 2 of the prologue is finished. I might stick them on at the end once this is done.


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